His Inexperienced Mistress. Chantelle Shaw

slip?’

      ‘It wasn’t…’ She noted his raised eyebrow and swore. ‘Oh, go to hell,’ Lily fired at him, walking ahead of him through to the vast sitting room, dominated by a king-sized sofa that faced plate-glass windows overlooking the city.

      ‘You know, all this outraged indignation over my attempt to help you before seems a little excessive to me,’ Tristan said from behind her.

      Lily turned, her eyes drawn to his lean, muscular elegance as he propped up the doorway even though she was determined not to be drawn in by his brooding masculinity. ‘Oh, really?’

      Tristan leant against the doorjamb and studied Lily’s defiant posture. Her face was flushed, and more wisps of hair had escaped her bun and were kissing her neck. Her lips were pouting, and he’d bet his life savings that she’d crossed her arms over her chest to hide her arousal from him. He knew why she was so angry. He knew she felt the sexual pull between them and was as enthralled by it as he was.

      And, while she might be upset with the media fall-out from his actions on the red carpet, he hadn’t missed the way her lips had clung to his and how her violet eyes had blazed with instantaneous desire when he’d kissed her.

      ‘Yes, really. Want me to tell you what I think is behind it?’ he asked benignly.

      ‘Pure, unadulterated hatred.’ She faked a yawn and he laughed.

      ‘You know what they say about hatred, Lily.’ Tristan stalked over to the drinks cabinet and threw a measure of whisky into a glass. Two days with her and he was beginning to feel like an alcoholic!

      ‘Yes, it means you don’t like someone. And my reaction to your behaviour is not excessive in the slightest. All you’ve done tonight is give the tabloids more fodder—and for your information I could have handled that reporter by myself.’

      Tristan raised his glass and swallowed the fiery liquid in one go, welcoming the sharp bite of distraction from the turn the conversation had taken. All he’d done was compliment her performance!

      ‘Was that before or after you had the panic attack?’ he asked silkily.

      ‘It wasn’t a panic attack! And just because I tell you something personal it doesn’t mean you get to take over. You’re not God’s gift—even though you clearly think you are.’

      Tristan turned slowly and stared at her. He’d heard the clear note of challenge in her voice and he knew the reason for it. And, by God, if he didn’t want to do something about it—regardless of everything that lay between them.

      He wanted her, and he knew for damned sure she wanted him, and looking at her right now, with her legs slightly apart and her hands fisted on her hips, her chin thrust out, he knew she wanted him to do something about it too.

      Not that she would admit it.

      He let his eyes slide slowly down her body and then just as slowly all the way back up. The pulse-point in her throat leapt to life, but she made no attempt to run from the hunger he knew was burning holes in his retinas.

      There was something interminably innocent about her provocative stance, almost as if she didn’t know what she was about, and it pulled him up for a minute. But then he discounted the notion. She might not be the Jezebel he thought she was, but women like Lily Wild always knew what they were about. He’d had enough of the simmering tension between them, and knew just how to kill it dead.

      ‘Okay, that’s it,’ he said softly, placing his empty glass on the antique sideboard with deliberate care. ‘I’m giving you fair warning. I’m sick of the tension between us—and the reason for it. You’ve got exactly three seconds to get moving before I take up from what we started six years ago. But this time there’ll be no stopping. You’re not seventeen any more, and there’s no secretary to interrupt us like yesterday. This time we’re on our own, and I’m not in the mind to stop at one kiss. Neither, I suspect, are you.’

      Lily didn’t know what thrilled her more—his blunt words or the starkly masculine arousal stamped across his handsome face. Her heart took off at full gallop and her stomach pitched alarmingly.

      Six years ago she had wanted him with the desperate yearning of a teenager in the throes of a first crush. The night of Jo’s party she had dressed for him, watched him, noticed him watching her—and then, on the back of a couple of fortifying glasses of vintage champagne, she had asked him to dance…and melted into him. Loved the feel of his strong arms around her, the sense of rightness that would have led her to do anything with him that night. And right now she felt exactly the same way. Which just didn’t make sense. None of this made sense.

       Does it have to?

      ‘One.’

      She shook her head. ‘Tristan, don’t be ridiculous. There’s no point to this.’

      ‘I couldn’t agree more, but we have unfinished business between us and denying it hasn’t made it go away. Nor has trying to ignore it. In fact, I think that’s only made the problem worse.’

      ‘And you think acting on it will solve it?’

      He raised that arrogant eyebrow. ‘Got a better idea?’

      No, she didn’t, and right now her body yearned for his with a desperation that was all-consuming. Yearned to experience more of the pleasure he’d wrought on her body yesterday. Yearned for a completion that Lily was starting to suspect only this man could fulfil.

      Jordana’s provocative suggestion that she cut loose and have some fun returned to mock her.

      Could she?

      Would having sex with Tristan fall under that banner? It wasn’t as if she was holding out for a marriage proposal or anything. The only reason she hadn’t had sex before was because of the lack of opportunity and…enticement. She’d never felt the way Tristan made her feel just by looking at him. Why keep denying it?

      And then there was the notion she’d had to meet him this trip as an equal. To put the attraction she had always felt for him to bed…

      ‘Two.’

      His soft voice cut through her ruminations and she realised her heart was pounding behind her ribcage.

      She swallowed. He hadn’t moved, and yet the room seemed smaller; he seemed closer. Her senses were entirely focused on him.

      His hair had flopped forward and she could see he was breathing as unevenly as she was. She found it almost shockingly exciting to think she could arouse a man like him to such a state. Because he was aroused. She could see the unchecked desire glittering in his darkened eyes and feel the dangerous intensity of his tautly held body.

      Her stomach clenched and she felt an answering hunger in herself at the thought of finally being able to touch all that roughly hewn muscle. So what was she waiting for? Armageddon?

      Lily slicked her tongue over her arid lips, a nascent sense of her own feminine power heating her insides and making her breasts feel firmer, fuller.

      He must have sensed her silent capitulation because he moved then, pacing towards her with the latent grace of a man who knew exactly what he was about, and any notions Lily had had of taking charge of their lovemaking flew out of the window. She felt like that inexperienced seventeen-year-old again in comparison to him and his wealth of sexual experience.

      He stopped just short of touching her and Lily gazed into his face with nervous anticipation.

      ‘Tristan…’ Her voice was a whisper of uncertainty and for a second her inner voice told her she was mad. She couldn’t possibly give this giant of a man what he needed.

      Tristan reached out and curled his hand around the nape of her neck, angling her face to his. He stared at her for what felt like ages. ‘Tell me you want this.’

      His warm fingers sent shock waves of energy up and down her spine and Lily was breathing so hard she was almost hyperventilating.

      Want